


A Touch (A Feel)

by wook77



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2012-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-03 00:49:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wook77/pseuds/wook77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you touch him, he trembles under your hands and you wonder, for a moment, how you'd ever developed this sort of power over him, how you can possibly control his muscles so much that the drifting of your hand down his face makes him tremble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Touch (A Feel)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by "Not Your Fault" by AWOLNation.

When you touch him, he trembles under your hands and you wonder, for a moment, how you'd ever developed this sort of power over him, how you can possibly control his muscles so much that the drifting of your hand down his face makes him tremble. He's so strong, so capable that he's made the Krogan back down, cured the Genophage and took on a Reaper all before dinner that night. 

And what did he do after that? He returned to you, to visit you where you push him away, just a little. If only you'd known then what you know now, that you can make his breath catch in his throat before he breathes out your name "Kaidan" in a husky prayer as if you're his god and he's happy to worship at your altar. If only you'd known that he thinks you feel right at his side, at his back, in front of him. Well, if you'd known then, maybe you would've had weeks more time, years more time. Maybe if you'd known that he'd been willing to take on you and all your issues (and there are so many issues dating back to those that you refuse to acknowledge from that school and Rahna and…), you could've had three years. 

Or maybe he's right. Maybe you would've followed him into the blackness of space, air leaching out of the pressure suit until you can't catch your breath any more because there isn't any more. But at least you would've known what it's like to die at his side instead of watching his body float through the bleakness of space, covered in the bitterness of regrets and words unsaid trembling on your lips, night after night after night, for years until he's there in front of you. Then, all those words come tumbling out in a vitriolic torrent, as you say things you don't mean because all you want to say is "I fucking loved you and you didn't even bother to tell me that you were alive, you fucking, selfish prick". 

So maybe it's a good thing that you never talked to him about it. You can pretend that it's not your fault that you were a fucking selfish coward about it. It's not your fault that you both have been denied years of happiness and love because of your inability to put words to what you were feeling. Hell, it was only after he died that you even realized that it wasn't just hero worship, that it wasn't just puppy eyes and an eagerness to follow wherever he led, that it was love that you felt. Feel. 

His hand comes up to grasp yours, hold it over his throbbing heart as he watches you think it all out, that secret little smile slipping over his lips that only you have ever seen, ever tasted. And that's even more powerful than the trembling because weakness can make your muscles tremble, can make even John Shepard's muscles tremble, but to get that smile? Now there's the real powerful moment, the one that boggles your brain and makes your heart stutter in your chest. 

The smile slips off his face slightly and you think that you can't have that, that there's not enough time with the Reaper invasion and the various missions to get everyone in the galaxy to finally do their fucking parts (why the hell they can't see that doing their parts now means that their planet won't get invaded, you'll never understand) and time's short and life's short and they're constantly at danger. You need to taste that smile as many times as you can so you lean forward and rub your nose against his. Once. Twice. Three times and there it is again so you sweep your lips down, enveloping that smile in your lips, tongue brushing against his lips and tasting joy and happiness and, most wonderfully and intoxicatingly of all, satisfaction and peace. 

It's not your fault that you bring this to him but you'll take all the blame that you can so it continues.


End file.
